ANDIE’S BIRTH STORY
The build up to spontaneous birth was so much more than I’d imagined it would be. Having been induced early(ish) with Lou, it was a strange feeling as baby day approached to had given birth but never actually gone into labour. I felt so lost with what to expect and found myself questioning every sensation. With Lou I’d only ever dilated to roughly 1cm on my own. At my 38 week appointment I was already 2cm, a few days later I lost my mucus plug, and by my 39 week appointment I was a whopping 4cm. That day I was stretched, sweeped and completely convinced baby was coming. Every hour that went past left me speechless at the fact that I was still pregnant. I was still a firm lover of pregnancy and still never wanted to wish a single second of it away, but my mind was playing tricks on itself. 4cm and no baby? 4cm, a mucus plug and stillll no baby? The low pressure was insane. Doctor Google could not have been more wrong. The days went by in waves. Certain times of the day, like when we’d put Lou down for the night, my mind would race with the thought of “this would be the perfect time”. Then in the mornings when Chris was gone to work, Lou was running around with two year old energy, and I was barely dressed I’d feel a sense of panic like “oh my god please don’t happen now”. Cramping would come and fade, contractions were only ever irregular. The highs and lows really got to me, and it just felt like a slow drag to my next appointment.
I waddled in at 40 weeks and a day, and despite all my curb walking and birthing ball bouncing, I was still 4cm. Which should be pointed out as an accomplishment in itself; I’d spent a week nearly at the halfway point of labour, no wonder I was so uncomfortable. Once again I was stretched and sweeped, and then my OB asked the question I was dreading… “When would you like to schedule your induction?”
My heart sunk; I didn’t want to have to pick a date. I wanted so badly to do it on my own this time. I felt a disappointment in my body that I acknowledge to be a huge betrayal after everything it’s done (and is still doing) for me. A blatant disrespect to its triumphant accomplishments. “I guess the weekend” I responded along with an explanation of the faint hope I was still carrying around, that it would happen on its own. My incredible OB wrapped up the appointment by reassuring me as best she could that my body was doing everything right; I had a very healthy pregnancy, no risks/concerns, and baby was measuring perfectly.
I waddled home and went about my afternoon the same way I had for the last two weeks. After Lou was down for the night, I bounced away on the birthing ball and could feel the discomfort brought on by my second membrane sweep starting to subside. I didn’t even want to articulate out loud that I felt like it hadn’t worked, so I kissed Chris goodnight and crawled into bed in a mood that can only be described as glum.
Little did I know, my body had big plans for that night. I cramped and contracted on and off, and in an effort not to get my hopes up I avoided looking at my phone. By about 3am they’d become a bit too real to ignore, so I started logging them in an app. They were anywhere between 4-9 minutes apart and lasting between 40-60 seconds. By 5pm I was uncomfortable enough to get up, pee, and take a little walk. In an almost poetic foreshadowing, I heard Lou stir a bit and call out for her “Papa”. I crawled back into bed and just as my eyes started to close I felt a rush of fluid. At 5:46am I sprung out of bed so fast I barely got the sheets wet, and my water broke big time all over the floor. Chris jumped up out of concern and I got to say those surreal, movie scene words… “My water just broke”. He looked at me through the dark with a smile on his face, and in a way that was so happy for me he just said “You did it!” It was baby day. I did it. I remember having an almost excessive amount of fluid with Lou and this time was no different. Each step I took towards the bathroom brought on another gush. We called family, and loaded our bags into the car. I took a minute and stood outside Lou’s bedroom door, crying and whispering to her that I loved her and I would be back soon. Papa walked down to the house to take over (just as Lou had predicted) and we were off! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I love giving birth. Giving birth to Lou was one of the best, most empowering, happiest experiences of my life (even with the pain). Pain is a part of it and I went into this experience fully prepared for pain but also fully aware of the magic this day would hold for me in the story of my life… and it did not disappoint.
My contractions were mild but regular, I was talking through them all the way to the hospital. We got there around 6:15am and while in triage I was checked and learned I was still sitting at 4cm. Our nurse started to discuss pain management with us and my initial response was that I was most likely going to want an epidural, but that I was fine for now. I hate needles and I know how ridiculous it sounds but I felt like I was going to have to get to a point of needing the relief in order to go through the process of getting a needle in my spine. Chris (really wanting to avoid having to stand beside me helpless) quickly reminded me of how fast pain can start and how long relief can take. So we told the nurse to go ahead with arranging it. And thank god we did.
A little while after being checked in, Chris had left to get me something to eat and I was just laying in the triage bed when I felt liquid running down my legs (a really strange sensation considering I was laying down). I lifted the blanket and found myself to be sitting in a pool of fluid. No exaggeration, from my ass to my ankles I was in a puddle. My Mom arrived about the same time Chris got back and, along with the nurse, they helped me off the bed and had me stand hovering over a pee pad. I ended up soaking through four of them, so as it would turn out I do carry a lot of fluid in my pregnancies. Once I’d gotten off the bed the nurse directed my attention to the fluid itself and immediately pointed out that the discolouration indicated that there was meconium, meaning baby had “pooped”. I knew this meant baby might need to be taken away after birth, and I tried my best to fight off a wave of anxiety and concern. I put my trust in the nurse telling me that things would most likely be fine and went into mommy autopilot. Whatever is best for baby. Either way they needed to start having me and baby on a monitor, and a NICU team would be in the room for delivery just in case.
Just as Chris had feared, contractions came on quick after that. One minute I was chatty, the next I was silently squirming on the bed. At some point I shut my eyes and kept them closed, trying to focus only on my breathing. In through my nose and out through my mouth… repeatedly. I couldn’t get my epidural until I was in my birthing suite and through my breathing I kept asking the nurse when that would be. It felt like forever that I kept getting the same response of “Any minute, they’re just preparing a room”. By the time a room was ready and they were wheeling me down the hall, I was having full blown back-to-back contractions. Getting into the bed seemed like an almost impossible task in itself. For reference, active labour contractions generally last 30-70 seconds and are 5-7 minutes apart. Mine were 70-80 seconds and 1-2 minutes apart, which meant I almost never had a break between them. The same thing happened when I was in labour with Lou and it makes the pain just so consuming. My stomach was seized into a constant knot and any movement, flinch or squirm only caused it to squeeze tighter. You know that feeling when your calf muscle cramps, and it’s like a consuming pain that causes your whole body to react? Now, imagine having to run with it cramped. Times the thought of that pain by a lot, and that’s the best way I can describe a contraction. Your whole core is seized and cramped, and you have to continue breathing through it. I remember digging my fingertips into the side of the bed, trying so hard to try to focus on that feeling and take my mind away from the actual pain I was experiencing. I later saw the picture below that my Mom had taken and was shocked at the sight of my contracting stomach. Women are incredible. Chris and my Mom seemed to just keep touching me, on my chest and arms and head. Maybe it was the ice chips they were constantly feeding me or the cold washcloth they were fanning me with, but their hands always felt cool. It was such a welcomed sensation through the pain that every time a new contraction would start I would muster up the energy to say “Another one” so I could feel their cool hands on me as I rode the next wave.
Around 8:40am I finally got my epidural, and I was soooo ready for relief but it just didn’t seem to come. My eyes were still clenched shut from triage, and I was still breathing through every back-to-back contraction. I knew from my labour with Lou that I’d needed a higher dose; I vividly remember hearing my nurse advocate for me. So I knew relief was possible and started advocating for myself. “Please, it’s not working. Please” I just kept saying it. At one point, I muttered out “Another one” again but felt no cool hands on me. I peeked slightly and saw my mom standing in front of me fanning away. I didn’t know it at the time but Chris had needed to step outside the room and compose himself. Some people might find that laughable considering what I was going through, but I find it to be a healthy mix of heartbreaking and charming. Sure women give birth, but it can’t be easy for a loving partner to stand and watch so helplessly. Sure, women give birth… but I still feel for our partners. I admire Chris and his perspective of the whole experience so much. With Lou there was a crowd, and things are so different now. Our families were tuned into the whole thing on a Google Meet, but it’s not quite the same. I’m so grateful we are at a point in the pandemic where birthing mothers are allowed two people in the room because I firmly believe your support people need support too. Plus, at the end of the day I’m still a girl who needs her Mama.
At around 10:15am after a much needed higher dose, a quick upchuck in my ice chip cup, and some readjusting of my body on the bed… I got the relief I had been so desperate for. I finally released my grip on the side of the bed, opened my eyes, and came back to earth. I was so relieved to be back in the room (mentally), and so happy to feel present again. My nurse was finally able to check my cervix and we learned I was a full 10cm. I may not have given birth naturally, but dilating to 10cm on my own stills feels like a huge accomplishment. They let me (quite literally) “hang out” and rest a bit before having me push, and I remember wanting that time to last forever. It was like Christmas Eve and I didn’t want to wish a second away.
At 11:06am I pushed through my first contraction ready to run the marathon, but you had other plans. Instead, my doctor followed up that first contraction with the shocking observation that I was “a contraction away from crowing”. A wave of emotions completely overwhelmed me; all this waiting it had felt like we’d done and suddenly you were ready for us. You were ready for the world. I’d thought in that moment that I would want to stop time, to stay together a little while longer, and savour what might be the last moments of a life inside me. But instead, the second I heard you were ready… I was ready for you. I wanted you with every fibre in me; to touch you, to see you, to know who you are. And as steady as the next contraction came, so did you. At 11:16am you were placed on my chest, and I was consumed at the sight of you. And then, those words again… “It’s a girl!” I threw my head back and sobbed. Your soft little first cries meant there was no concern over the meconium, and the NICU team happily left you all to me. I kissed your forehead, Daddy cut our cord and set you free, and we all fell instantly in love.
A short while afterwards, I looked over and saw Chris standing by the window. I watched my Mom go over and hug him, and they both fell into a happy cry. It’s one of those moments that you carry with you forever; that image of two people I love holding each other in pure joy. I would have loved a crowd again, hearing our families cheers over the laptop speaker was incredible but having those two here with me meant everything.
And you, my Andie girl. You have Mama’s eyes and Daddy’s lips, just like Lou, but you have your very own nose. You weighed a delicious 10lbs and 13oz. You latched onto me right away, and we were together again. Deep down I think I always knew it was you. In my subconscious I pictured a life of ponytails and ruffles, pink and pretty things. And a sister…. now that is a special kind of magic that I know very well. Together your initials, L & A, are a tribute to my very own. I can’t wait to learn you; see ways that you’re the same as each of us, and ways that you’re entirely yourself. I’m so proud of you for everything you did to come to us, and still in awe that this is the life I get to live. Lou is my dawn, you are my dusk, and together you’re our whole world.
